


Geranium

by Miyukitty



Series: A Man for Flowers [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dancing, Festivals, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6606466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyukitty/pseuds/Miyukitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could dance, because everyone else was dancing, because rhythm was pulsing through his veins and pulling at his very soul, and for the first time in his young life, he didn't care whose eyes were on him.</p><p>He probably should have watched where he was going, though, because he stumbled into a pair of strong arms and couldn't stop laughing as they pulled him back upright. Maybe he was a little more than tipsy; he wasn't sure how to judge when the festival kept on spinning without him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Geranium

**Author's Note:**

> Another Inigo-centric ship drabble, this time for Gerome because Harvest Scramble DLC is the greatest gift to canon <3 
> 
> (seeing laslow for the first time brought back so many feelings about weepy loser inigo and his gay awakening, i love him)

 

 

Lanterns were lit as the sun set, but the harvest festival showed no signs of slowing. The brightly colored pendants were a beautiful blur as Inigo spun 'round and 'round the fountain, laughing with abandon in the crowd.

 

Chrom's Shepherds mingled with farmers and merchants, setting aside armor and weaponry for a much-needed rest. The Justice Cabal acted out some elaborate play atop a hay wagon, chasing each other with sticks like they were children again. The townspeople danced and clapped in the town square, cheering on the handful of ragtag musicians entertaining them.

 

The violinist stood out as particularly talented—in Naga's name, had they actually gotten _Brady_ to perform in _public_? Even if they were in a foreign realm, a place they'd likely never set foot in again, Inigo never thought he'd see the day.

 

Then again, he never thought such revelry would ever be possible for him—for any of them.

 

He winked and threw a handful of coins at the violinist's feet as he whirled by, and was rewarded with a curse and a rude gesture as he waltzed out of reach.

 

When the grateful townspeople had offered mead in thanks for repelling the Risen, Inigo had initially refused. He wondered now why he had ever stayed away from the stuff. It made his thoughts feel fuzzy around the edges, his movements light and floating. Warmth flushed his skin and melted away his inhibitions.

 

He could dance, because everyone else was dancing, because rhythm was pulsing through his veins and pulling at his very soul, and for the first time in his young life, he didn't care whose eyes were on him.

 

He probably should have watched where he was going, though, because he stumbled into a pair of strong arms and couldn't stop laughing as they pulled him back upright. Maybe he was a little more than tipsy; he wasn't sure how to judge when the festival kept on spinning without him.

 

"I don't want to have to bandage that arm again tonight," the gruff voice admonished him. "Be careful, Inigo."

 

Inigo glanced up and saw the familiar dark mask gleaming in the lantern light. A sloppy grin lit up his face. Gerome thought he looked so cool with his silly mask, and his muscles, and his fancy wyvern, and his air of mystery, and, and, it wasn't _fair_ that he got to be so popular without even trying. (Why did girls always go for handsome jerks instead of a nice guy like him?)

 

Well, he could help clear up some mystery tonight.

 

"Make me," he grinned, snatching the mask and whirling away.

 

At least that was his intention. His lunge was clumsier than he'd expected, and when he grabbed the mask, he forgot to account for the strap firmly secured around Gerome's head. The end result was the two of them crashing to the ground in a pile of thrashing limbs.

 

Gerome yelped in a decidedly undignified manner, but try as he might to shove Inigo off him, the dancer merely clung to the mask and refused to let go.

 

"Get off me, idiot! You're too heavy, and—gods, you are very drunk," Gerome protested, working to free himself from the dead weight pinning him to the cobblestones. "Don't you have some village girls to go bother?"

 

"You should see the dumb look on your face right now," Inigo snickered. Gerome's mask was knocked askew, normally neat hair rumpled and messy, righteous indignation tingeing his cheeks pleasantly pink.  

 

"Hey everyone, look at Gerome," Inigo called loudly, but his voice dissolved into giggles. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he buried his face in the warmth of Gerome's chest, laughing softly against the cotton of his tunic as he waited for everything to stop spinning.

 

"…Can you even stand anymore, fool?" Gerome scowled.

 

(At least Inigo assumed he was scowling. He couldn't really tell from his vantage point.) 

 

"…Legs are too heavy," a muffled voice admitted after a moment's consideration. "I don't want to stop dancing, though. Help me up, Gerome, I want to dance more!"

 

"Then you shouldn't have had so much to drink," Gerome retorted, gently prising Inigo's fingers from his mask. "I think you're done for tonight."

 

As Inigo's hands dropped, his fingers clutched at Gerome's shirt, tugging insistently at the fabric. He raised his face to gaze pleadingly upward, bright eyes shining impossibly wide against the firelight.

 

"But when will I get this chance again?"

 

They both went still.

 

The crowd continued moving on around them, swaying to the strains of violin that rose above the loud chatter of voices. In the morning, it would all be gone.

 

Inigo's grip tightened for a moment. Then he slowly let go, a strangely pained smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

"Never mind, it was silly of me to ask," Inigo mumbled, breaking eye contact. "You're right, I… I should head back, before I twist an ankle or something. Wouldn't want Minerva to get upset."

 

He leaned against the fountain's base as he wobbled to his feet. Bright colors swayed and bobbed around him as he swallowed, stubbornly working his way through the crowd.

 

Something caught his hand.

 

Inigo turned incredulously to find Gerome raising his hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss against his bare knuckles.

 

"Inigo… May I have this dance?" the wyvern rider asked, faint pink of embarrassment rising along his cheekbones.

 

Inigo gawked for a long second, lower lip quivering.

 

Then he took a hesitant step forward, and Gerome stepped with him.

 

"Is this how you get girls to manhandle you? By being so smooth?" Inigo teased, laughter barely edging out a hiccoughing sob.

 

He stepped in time with the music, tentatively at first, but relaxing into the familiarity of the rhythm. Their fingers meshed together easily. Gerome's movements were stiffer, clunkier, but he knew the steps as well. He had been schooled in the courtly arts, Inigo imagined with a sly grin. 

 

Inigo led him at first, but once he was comfortable, he allowed his partner to slide his hands to his hips and take the lead. Dancing in public with a partner—it was a night for firsts.

 

When Inigo closed his eyes, he almost immediately tripped against an uneven cobblestone. Immense relief flooded him as stumbled gratefully into Gerome's sturdy embrace, and did not attempt to right himself.

 

"Fine," the wyvern rider grumbled good-naturedly. "You can lean on me, drunkard. But we're not staying out all night. Some of us actually need to sleep. And don't cry on me or I'll leave you here!"

 

Inigo sniffled and wobbled as they shuffled clumsily along to Brady's _pas de deux,_ but he knew he would not fall again that night.

 

The memory would be a beautiful blur, hazy at the edges and missing some scenes. When morning came, the sword in his hand felt heavier than ever.

 

Inigo held fast to what it felt like to be unburdened, to laugh with abandon and dance freely, if only for one night. 

**Author's Note:**

> :) feel free to yell at me on twitter @magepaw


End file.
